On the Edge
by 4mation-is-1derful
Summary: "In another moment, down went Alice after it, never once considering how in the world she was to get out again."


**On the Edge**

_"__In another moment, down went Alice after it, never once considering how in the world she was to get out again."_

It was a simple thing, really. Not even that hard of a decision to make. For someone like you, someone who's always loved helping people, loved charity, loved helping those too damaged to help themselves, volunteering to help out at the Ron Dewland Asylum was only natural.

As you pass through the main doors, your escorts, two burly security officers, directed you towards the reception. A young, neat woman wearing a black suit is typing at the computer, keys clicking rhythmically under her plastic nails. She looks up at the sound of your feet tapping against the polished tiles, a vast expanse of cold chessboard.

"Good morning, ma'am. How may I help you?"

"Good morning. I'm supposed to sign in. I've been registered to stay here for a while, you see."

"Ah, very well then. I just need to check up on your records. Your name is…?"

"Liddell. Ms Liddell."

"Thank you." The receptionist nods as your picture flashes on her screen. "Ah, yes. I see. Your application says that you will remain here for an indeterminate period of time, correct?"

"Of course. I didn't want to leave until I was sure that the patients' lives had improved. Helping the mentally unstable can take quite some time, don't you agree?"

"Definitely." She signals to your escorts. "Please show Ms Liddell to the decontamination chamber. I apologise, Ms Liddell, but it's a necessary precaution that all newcomers must undertake."

"I understand." You reply cheerfully. As you follow the two men to the doors on the left side of the bland welcoming area, you take a moment to look back. The receptionist is back typing at her keys intently, you already forgotten, as if she had to deal with people like you all the time.

_"__I like the Walrus best," said Alice. "Because you see, he was a LITTLE sorry for the poor oysters."_

_"__He ate more than the Carpenter, though." said Tweedledee._

You meet your co-workers, and you're not entirely sure what to make of them.

Like you, they are dressed in the simple white uniforms that all helpers at the Asylum share. Crisp and clean, it promises professionalism, calm, tidiness and straightforwardness, all of which the patients are said to respond positively to. You suppose that it is certainly a snappy dress code and that it is comforting to show such clean-cut clarity.

The uniform is the only thing that joins the three of you together, however. Contrasting sharply with your dark, straight hair, blue eyes and slim figure, your two compatriots seem to be determined to be on the extreme opposite of the other, with you as the middle ground in their physical presences.

The one man is enormous, towering above you with heavy jowls and a great, portentous belly which jiggles and ripples with every step. Bald but with truly impressive eyebrows and beard, the man carries himself with an air of joviality and fun, and seems to be altogether friendly and empathetic.

The other man is a perfectly contrasting inversion of his fellow. Skinny to the point of stick-like, he is old and seems fragile with his spindly limbs. He is clean-shaven and his only acquiesce to the facial hair which insists on populating every male's face is a neat moustache which gives him an air of sophistication. He has a wild mane of hair on his head atop which sits an against-regulations top hat, which you know covers a glaring bald spot, having seen it when he took it off to bow to you in greeting. Interestingly, whilst his moustache is a slight greyish silver, his shock of hair is as white as snow, causing it to camouflage against the pure bleached walls of the Asylum. However, the most striking and distinctive part of the little man are his bright eyes. Whilst the rest of his body screams of the decay of age, his green eyes are alive with manic electricity, which eagerly absorbs all information around him with eager fascination.

You first encountered the duo when they were experimenting with some mice. As part of the Asylum's unorthodox approach to research on reactive behaviour, it was common to have orderlies experiment on how the behaviour of common dormice changed and adapted to different circumstances. This helped orderlies widen their minds and become more open to different perspectives, apparently. Though you remain sceptical, you must admit that it is interesting to watch these two men, as different as day and night, shuffle the environments of their little mice.

"See? Isn't it fascinating, how they shuffle in confusion as they search for the cheese that was definitely there for the past few weeks but is there no longer?" The little man cries out.

"I can see," replies the large man. He peers into the maze, his great eyebrows resting like caterpillars against the glass. "Look at how confused they are! In all honesty, I feel a tad uncomfortable about keeping these mice in here for our amusement. Locked up in there… it must be dreadful!"

"You say these things, but you have more mice than I do!" the little man accuses, pointing his finger declaratively at the large man. "I have only eight, whilst you have a full dozen!"

"We agreed that we would take as many as we could get in our left hand. I took twelve, but even after you cheated and used both left and right, you could only carry four in each hand!"

"You accuse me of trickery, but if I recall correctly, you snuck a few mice up your sleeve so that you could fit more into your meaty paw!"

You decide to go see some of the patients, leaving your two compatriots bickering over the sizes of hands and sleeves.

_"__Oh, you can't help that," said the Cat. "We're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad."_

_"__How do you know I'm mad?" said Alice._

_"__You must be," said the Cat, "or you wouldn't have come here."_

This man is strange and definitely deserves his place in the Asylum, you conclude.

Having wandered into the Arts and Crafts department, where painting and playing with LEGO blocks is encouraged to stimulate creativity, you find yourself accosted by a bizarre man who has not only painted the great wall of canvas behind him, but himself as well. Vibrant splashes of purple and pink stain the walls, the hues matching the patches and stripes he so lovingly slathered his body with. You took care not to get to close to this flamingo-like man, lest he share his Technicolor disease with you.

He slinks back and forth in front of you, weaving his way around the many paint cans scattered around the floor before his masterpiece. He stares at you with fascination, feet padding noiselessly in aimless patterns. Truth be told, you are rather unnerved, but decide that it would be best not to show discomfort when being scrutinised by this purple-pink person.

"Well, who do we have here?" he asks in a smooth, velvety voice. "Is it someone new? Someone fun? Someone special?"

"Good morning," you respond, though you are not certain if it is still morning. You have been inside the Asylum for a while, now, and you are losing track of time. "My name is Ms Liddell. I've just started work here as a volunteer."

"Oh, so you're one of **those** people," the man responds, disappointed. "Shame. I thought you were someone **different**."

"Pardon?" It's difficult to talk to him, as he is constantly moving, constantly flowing around in a partner-less waltz. Against the backdrop of his violet monstrosity, it is easy to lose sight of the man as he blends flawlessly into the painted wall.

"We have **many** types of people here, Ms Liddell. We have those who scream and shout and rage and sob and bellow with all their passion. We have those who hide in corners, wrapped in their jackets and coats, afraid of the light and what it reveals about them, ashamed of themselves. We have those who twitch and twiddle their thumbs, nervous, excited, waiting, watching, ready for when the moment presents itself. Then we have those like you: the pretty little things that have rose-coloured glasses sealed to their eyes. Don't worry: sooner or later, the lenses will break, and you'll see the world for what it is."

"I'm not quite sure I understand you."

The man moves back and presses himself against his painting, and abruptly you can no longer see him. All that remains are his bright eyes and wide smile.

"There are four kinds of people in the world, Miss. There are the optimists, who insist that their glass is half-full. Then there are the pessimists, who believe that their glass is half-empty. Then there are the realists, who are content with the fact that there is water in their glass. Then there are the paranoid: they're just convinced that someone is drinking from their glass. Care to guess which one you are?"

"I'm more interested in which type you are?"

More pearly white teeth slide into existence as the man's smile widens.

"I'm the type of person who knocks the glass over."

_"__Have you guessed the riddle yet?" the Hatter said, turning to Alice again. _

_"__No, I give it up," Alice replied. "What's the answer?"_

_"__I haven't the slightest idea," said the Hatter. _

You feel a pressure behind your eyelids as you sit in the room assigned to you, kneading your temples with your fingertips. You have a headache coming on, but you don't know why.

The talk with the painted man has done something to your mind. You are unsure of yourself, unsure of what your goals are, unsure of why you're here. Memories flash through your mind, each depicting scenes which make no sense to you, the contrasts between them maddening and infuriating.

_You're at the university, talking with your friends, laughing, giggling as the teacher's handsome assistant smiles at you-_

_You kneel in the sticky red pools as the life flows out of his body, crimson lines streaking your face and a bloody knife in hand-_

_You yawn as you struggle to finish your essay, but despite your best efforts your eyelids droop closed and your mom's going to be __**furious**__ when the teacher sends you home with another letter-_

_She's screaming, choking from the oil fumes, begging you to stop, thrashing against the chair she's bound to, widened eyes never leaving the lighter in your hand as flick the flame on and kneel to the petrol-soaked rope-_

_You sign up to help out at the local Asylum, desperate to help those poor unfortunate souls trapped inside a bedlam house and no way to escape their insanity-_

_You sit in the back of a police truck, handcuffed to the wall and sandwiched between two burly officers who hold you tight as an elderly man with a sombre face swings a pocket watch before your eyes, the golden timekeeper sweeping liking a pendulum as his voice penetrates deeply into your subconscious-_

It's not fair, it's not fair, it's not **fair**. You're not crazy. You're not insane. You're just on the edge, watching the chaos of fractured minds seething beneath you. You just wanted a closer look. It's not like you're ever going to fall into the cesspool of broken people. Never.

You are just going amongst mad people.

You are going amongst mad people.

You are amongst mad people.

You are amongst mad.

You are mad.

_"__What do you mean by that?" said the Caterpillar sternly. "Explain yourself!"_

_"__I can't explain MYSELF, I'm afraid sir," said Alice. "because I'm not myself, you see."_

**The End**

Quotations taken from: Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Lewis Carroll's Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There


End file.
